


Perfect Little Girls

by FreshBrains



Series: Femslash 100 Drabble tag 6 [55]
Category: Once Upon a Time (TV)
Genre: Age Difference, Alternate Universe - Non-Magical, Ambiguous/Open Ending, Community: femslash100, Emotional Manipulation, F/F, Gen, Kidnapping, Mommy Kink, Sad, Smoking, Stockholm Syndrome, Tattoos, Unhealthy Relationships
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-07-09
Updated: 2015-07-09
Packaged: 2018-04-08 13:19:47
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Underage
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,000
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4306596
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/FreshBrains/pseuds/FreshBrains
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>“This?” Elsa holds up her wrist, shoving it in Emma’s face. Her tattoo is still fresh, the pale yellow ink wrapped in plastic. “This isn’t <i>normal</i>, Emma. She’s branding us. This isn’t <i>love</i>, it’s…”</p><p>“It’s what?” Emma inspects her own tattoo—she loves it. It makes her feel owned, safe.</p><p>“It’s not good,” Elsa says.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Perfect Little Girls

**Author's Note:**

  * For [demoka](https://archiveofourown.org/users/demoka/gifts).



> For several Emma/Ingrid prompts from the lovely demoka for Femslash100 Drabble Tag 6. In order, I was inspired by the prompts: Attentive, plead, skin, space. Each prompt can be read separately, but they work better together. Each prompt part is separated by white space.
> 
> I tagged for underage, but Emma is only underage in the first part and it is not explicit. This is a complete AU with no other realms or magic.

“Now that I’ve found you again, I’m never letting you go,” Ingrid says, leaning down to press a kiss to Emma’s forehead.

Emma laughs, arching up into the touch, savoring the tickle of Ingrid’s hair on her face. “And I’m not going anywhere.”

“Good girl,” Ingrid says, combing her fingers through Emma’s hair. The motel comforter is scratchy on Emma’s back, arms cold in the air-conditioned room, but she can’t remember the last time she’s been this happy. “What’s next, girls?”

Elsa clears her throat from the other bed. “I don’t think we should stay long. They’re going to look for her soon.”

“Nobody cares about me,” Emma snaps. She can relate to Elsa, but she still sees her as competition for Ingrid’s affections—Elsa is a blood relative, and Emma has no experience with a bond like that. “I’m almost eighteen. I’ll be out of the system soon, anyways.”

“People care about you, Emma,” Elsa says, face drawn with worry.

“Yes,” Ingrid says, holding Emma close, her chest to Emma’s back. It’s not a mother-daughter pose, it’s too intimate, and Elsa looks away. “ _We_ care about her.”

Emma smiles and locks eyes with Elsa. She sees something there, something cold—an icy desperation in Elsa’s eyes. But she’s gone too long without being loved, without someone looking out for her, giving her what she needs. “I love you too, mama,” she says, craning her neck to look up at Ingrid.

Ingrid smiles, warm and bright, and Elsa sighs.

 

Emma is naked in bed, body pleasantly sore and thrumming from Ingrid’s touches. She goes to grab a cigarette from the night table, but the pack is gone.

“I didn’t think you smoked,” she says, rolling over onto her stomach, unashamed of her nakedness. Elsa’s used to it by now.

Elsa shrugs and sits down on the side of the bed. The smoke looks like tendrils of warmth coming from Elsa’s mouth, like someone breathing into cold air. The shower starts in the bathroom. “I figured this conversation called for it.”

Emma rolls her eyes. “Please, Elsa. Not this again.”

“This?” Elsa holds up her wrist, shoving it in Emma’s face. Her tattoo is still fresh, the pale yellow ink wrapped in plastic. “This isn’t _normal_ , Emma. She’s branding us. This isn’t _love_ , it’s…”

“It’s what?” Emma inspects her own tattoo—she loves it. It makes her feel owned, safe.

“It’s not good,” Elsa says. She looks down at Emma, eyes crystal-clear and hair ice-blonde. She’s the lightest of the three of them, the most striking. Ingrid is classically beautiful while Emma is the bombshell—they make a perfect trio, so Ingrid says. Elsa grabs Emma’s hand. “Please, Emma. I’m begging you. Let’s just _leave_. There has to be something better for us!”

Emma snatches her hand away. “If you’re so unhappy, you can leave.” She presses her finger to a fresh love bite on her neck, sighing in contentment. “But I found my family, and I’m not going anywhere.”

 

“She’ll be back,” Ingrid says, voice firm. She pulls Emma close to her, arm tight around her shoulders. “She’s chasing a ghost. Her sister is off and married, her parents are dead. There’s no one left but us.”

Emma’s chest aches despite Ingrid’s warmth next to her. The backseat of Ingrid’s small car is littered with fast food containers and stray clothing—their temporary home. She already misses Elsa, misses the protectiveness in her stance, the knowing in her eyes. “Why would she leave?”

Ingrid sighs. Her mouth is drawn in a grim line, and she looks so much older since she found Emma in her foster home three years before. “She’s always been loved, and she’s never appreciated it. Her sister would do anything for her, but she just…shut her out.”

Emma frowns. She’s never had anyone besides Ingrid who would love her like that. She presses her wrist against Ingrid’s, their matching yellow ribbon tattoos touching.

Ingrid smiles and laces their fingers together, warm skin against warm skin. “My perfect girl,” she says, kissing Emma’s hair. “My perfect little girl.”

Emma feels that sick pull in her gut, the one that slithers down and makes her wet, and she leans up, pressing her mouth to Ingrid’s. Ingrid responds eagerly, lips parting for Emma. Emma turns and shifts into Ingrid’s lap, straddling her, their breasts pushed together. “Say it again,” she says, breath hot against Ingrid’s lips.

Ingrid groans and tugs Emma closer. “Oh, Emma. My perfect little girl.”

 

Emma crumples the piece of paper with a phone number and name on it—Mary Margaret Blanchard—and shoves it into her pocket, out of Ingrid’s sight. She grabs her battered duffle bag. “I’m not _leaving_ you, Ingrid. I just need some space right now.”

Elsa lingers in the front doorway, not interacting with Ingrid. She’s got shorter hair and a more relaxed smile and a smudged ring around her wrist where her tattoo used to be. She nods to Emma, beckoning her outside.

“Emma,” Ingrid says, voice tainted with desperation. She grasps Emma’s hands, clutching her tight. “Emma, baby, don’t do this to me. After all we’ve been through. I love you, Emma, please don’t go.”

Emma sighs, glancing at Elsa. “I know, and I love you too. But…” she pauses. Ingrid is still as beautiful as she was five years before, still strong and perfect. “But I’m not a little girl anymore. I’m not _your_ little girl.” It hurts to say because she knows it’s not true—Ingrid owns her, always will. But she needs to get away. She needs to find the woman who says she’s her birth mother.

Ingrid’s eyes go steely, her spine straight. “Family doesn’t abandon family, Emma.”

Elsa finally moves, looping her arm through Emma’s and taking her bag. “Yes,” she says, flashing Ingrid a dark glance. “They do.”

As they walk out the door, Emma squeezes her eyes shut and strokes the tattoo on her wrist, telling herself that someday she’ll return.


End file.
